


so casually cruel in the name of being honest

by lumineres



Series: loving him was red [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Established Relationship, Famous Liam, Famous Zayn, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Smut, Tattoo Artist Niall, Tattoo Artist Zayn, Writer Harry, Writer Louis, harry has an EP but there isnt a tag for that so, just mentions of it rly, what else happens all i remember is crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2360159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumineres/pseuds/lumineres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Harry kisses him instead, bruises Louis' and his own lips, trying to push the words into Louis' mouth with his tongue. Maybe they'll take hold there, and the words Harry knows he shouldn't hope for will grow roses on Louis' tongue, and the thorns will prick him just the way they're shredding Harry's insides, and maybe he'll choke on the stems and the vines will lace in to his ribcage just the same way Harry has become a host to this, and then maybe he'll say it. Maybe he'll feel it too. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>or, an AU where things are good and then they're not anything at all</p>
            </blockquote>





	so casually cruel in the name of being honest

**Author's Note:**

> ive been whining for ages about needing an au based off all too well and i finally said 'fuck it' and took matters into my own hands  
> if you've heard the song you know that this is so fucking angsty ok i cry every time i hear the song  
> if you havent heard the song whATS WRONG WITH U GO LISTEN even if u dont like t swift just do it trust me its an experience  
> uhhh i wanna thank [ zoe](http://louisemoji.tumblr.com) for the beautiful edit (posted on tumblr here) and [ kristina ](http://chiquitastyles.tumblr.com) for being a wonderful cheerleader and validating me by crying and [ josy ](http://lilosquad.tumblr.com) for mapping out the prequel and sequel w/ me (and also we're gonna co write!! how exciting!!)  
> OH i dont own one direction or taylor swift's song so yeah 'sadly i am only an eel'

Harry knows this stuff scares Louis. The heavy stuff. Louis doesn't believe in things like permanence and solidity, things like depending on people. He'd actually brought it up on their third date, admitted that he had commitment issues. At the time, that was fine, it wasn't a big deal to Harry because he'd been dating this guy for, what, two weeks? Commitment issues weren't a worry yet. It was the first 'what are we' conversation in Louis' bed one night that Harry realized it might be a problem. Louis had had a small discrepancy with the word boyfriend, and Harry decided not to push it. Two weeks later, though, he introduced Harry to his best mate Stan as his boyfriend and that was that. Official relationship things just have to be on Louis' terms, it's how it's been their whole six months. That's why it means so much to Harry that he's bringing him to meet his family.

“Okay, there's still time to turn back, if you need to,” Louis cautions, probably for the fortieth time.

“Louis, you've just rung the doorbell. I'm not going to play ding-dong ditch on your mum, even if I wanted to,” Harry says.

“Right, yeah,” Louis nods, and they see a shadow move behind the rippled glass of the door.

“Brace yourself, there's so many of them,” he whispers, and then there's a very small person opening the door.

She's blonde, and she's got straight across bangs, and one tooth missing in the front of her mouth, and glittery purple nail polish on her fingers, but Harry has never seen those eyes on anyone but Louis before, and it's strange to realize that they exist on another human. And, if this is one of the twins like Harry thinks, there's a _third_.

“Lou!” She squeals, launching herself at him and wrapping her skinny arms around his legs, which are clad in his brightest, reddest pair of pants and paired with his stripiest shirt.

“Hey kiddo! Where's Phoebe? Haven't seen you two apart since those five minutes when you weren't a twin yet,” Louis jokes, ruffling her blonde hair. _So this one's Daisy_ , Harry thinks.

“She's in time out, she took the remote from Fizzy. Mum didn't tell us you were coming, you know,” Daisy says, plucking at Louis' suspenders absentmindedly, in the way kids do.

Louis mumbles something. Something like _she doesn't know_.

“You didn't tell her?” Harry asks then, finally drawing Daisy's attention, but before either of them can say anything there's someone else at the door.

“Louis! What a surprise!” The woman is obviously his mum, the resemblance is clear, and she seems to be too old to be his sister. She wraps him in a tight hug, and when she does she sees Harry.

“Oh! Boo, who's this? Come in, come in, you must be freezing standing out there!” Harry doesn't even have time to think to himself _what do you mean, 'who's this?'_ before Mrs. Tomlinson waves them all in whilst chiding Daisy about wearing at least socks when she's going to step outside, it is March, after all, and it's still cold. Harry wonders if all of the Tomlinson brood have an aversion to socks.

“Let me take your coat, dear,” Louis' mum says, helping Harry shrug out of his coat. She hangs it on pegs, painted in pink and purple and signed Lottie, 2000. She helps Louis out of his coat then Harry's too.  
“Girls! Louis has come for a surprise visit!” She looks at Harry then, “And he's brought a friend!”

Harry looks at Louis then, and Louis won't meet his eyes.

His heart sinks down to his toes.

Daisy and Mrs. Tomlinson lead them in to the living room, where three girls are now scrambling up to meet their brother. The oldest, Harry assumes that's Charlotte, gets up slower, but she still looks excited, but she sees Harry first and her eyes widen. Suddenly she's fiddling with her hair and adjusting her clothes and darting her eyes nervously back and forth from Harry to the floor. Bitterly, Harry thinks, _if only you knew_. Because yes, it would be lovely if she knew that Harry is the boy her brother has been with for six months.

Charlotte clears her throat, “Lou? Who's your friend?”

Harry watches Louis stiffen up while hugging Felicite.

“Right, well,” Louis detaches from his sister and moves to put his arm around Harry. Warmth ripples through Harry's body, originating from each point of contact with Louis' hand. He wants to shrug out of Louis' grip, but as angry as his mind is, his body can't forget how much he loves this boy. “Mum, girls, this is my boyfriend, Harry.”

If every muscle of Harry's body weren't screaming at him to lock himself in the bathroom and have a cry, he'd laugh at the way Charlotte physically deflates.

Harry has never claimed to be a good person, never pretended to be something he wasn't. He smiles sweetly, says, “Yeah, I've been begging to meet you all for ages. We've been together for six months.”

Mrs. Tomlinson's eyes widen just the slightest at that and flick to Louis. Louis' fingers dig in to Harry's hip, and he knows it's supposed to say _I'm sorry_ , but it just hurts. That's how it usually goes, doesn't it?

 

Dinner is lovely and the girls are lovely and Jay is lovely and baby Louis in all the photo albums was lovely and the guest room is lovely and everything is just fucking _peachy_ , except for the fact that Harry is _seething_ and Louis won't even meet his eyes.

After announcing that they were heading off to bed and watching Louis give Lottie a hug goodnight, Harry closes the door to their shared room quietly.

“What the fuck was that, Louis?” It feels more like an implosion than an explosion. Like by letting out what he's been bottling up all day, he's hollowed himself out and is in danger of collapse.

There's already tears on Louis' cheeks, and half of Harry thinks _good_ and half wants to kiss them away.

“We've been dating for six months, and you never once mentioned me to your mother?”

“Hazza-”

“ _Don't_ -” Harry starts off in what's nearly a roar, catches himself, “Don't 'Hazza' me, Lou.”

“Harry, Harry I'm so, so sorry, I- you know I'm not good at this! You know you're my first, like, real thing that I've ever known,” the lack of the word relationship does not go over Harry's head, “you know I'm just, like, fucking stupid, I- Harry, I wanted to tell her. I just didn't know how.”

Harry feels like he's shriveling. He feels like his anger, his sadness, his frustration, is draining all the life out of him, pulling and unraveling until he just feels hollowed.

“Generally it goes something like, 'oh mum, last week I went on a date with this bloke. His name's Harry,' and then, 'oh mum remember that lad I told you about a couple weeks ago? We're like officially boyfriends now' and 'oh, mum, Harry bought me flowers for our three month anniversary!'” Harry says, donning a high pitched Yorkshire accent.

“You didn't buy-”

“ _You wouldn't let me_ ,” Harry says, steely. Louis doesn't reply, just fish mouths, and Harry can nearly watch the memory flick over his eyes.

“Right,” Louis says, more breath than voice, really.

He wants to say it, whisper it, scream it, hiss it, mouth it, growl it, yell it, murmur it, shout it. Half of him just wants to tell him because he loves this boy so much, loves him so much it aches. Half of him just wants to tell him because it'd hurt Louis. It's his best weapon. Those three words, eight letters, three syllables, could cut Louis down like a sapling. Harry knows if he said it, he'd win. This fight would be over. _This_ would probably be over. He knows if he said it, it would hurt Louis just as much as Louis has hurt Harry.

So he won't.

Because this is agony.

Harry kisses him instead, bruises Louis' and his own lips, trying to push the words into Louis' mouth with his tongue. Maybe they'll take hold there, and the words Harry knows he shouldn't hope for will grow roses on Louis' tongue, and the thorns will prick him just the way they're shredding Harry's insides, and maybe he'll choke on the stems and the vines will lace in to his ribcage just the same way Harry has become a host to this, and then maybe he'll say it. Maybe he'll feel it too.

 

Louis rides him that night, both of their clothes tossed somewhere unimportant, 'I'm sorry' punched from his mouth beside every muffled moan, like it's Harry's name.

 

They leave the next day after lunch, and the scarf Harry wore is left behind.

 

~*~

 

“SWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET DISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSPOOOOOOOOOSIIIIITIOOOOOOONNNNNNNNN,” Louis screeches along to the song, blasting from their very own brand new convertible. Louis has a good voice, but falsettos are just not his forte.

Harry snorts at that, his own damn music pun.

“It's not nice to laugh at your boyfriend's singing, Harold,” Louis chides.

“Nah, I was laughing at a joke I made,” Harry explains, still chuckling about it. Forte, _god_ , Harry loves puns.

“Well, are you going to share?” Louis prompts, taking a left curve.

“I was just thinking that, you know, falsettos aren't your forte. Get it? Forte?”

“I'm going to pull over and you need to get the hell out of my car,” Louis says, deadpan. Harry barks out a laugh, throwing his head back. It sends his curls in to the wind and it feels lovely. The trees are all in that stage where every single one is in the prime of it's fall colors. Somehow, even going 50 down this road, they've managed to pick up quite a few in their car. Harry's vaguely aware of Louis looking at him. He can see it in his peripheral vision, and he takes Louis' resting hand. Then they come to the top of a low hill and there's a red light in front of them.

“Lou!” Harry says, and Louis focuses his attention back on driving, beginning to brake.

“Fuck, sorry,” Louis says, grimacing.

“Maybe you should keep your eyes on the road,” Harry chides.

“You're so much better looking than the road though,” Louis grins.

Harry rolls his eyes, “Where ever you're taking me, I hope I can snog you silly when we get there.”

Softly, Louis says, “Oh I hope you do.” Harry doesn't question what his particular tone meant, just sits back and rubs Louis' hand with his thumb. There's only about ten minutes left of driving until Louis pulls into the driveway of a tattoo parlor.

“Oh! Are you finishing the one you got last week?” Harry asks. Last week Louis had had an appointment for a new tattoo but had to go back the next week to have it finished, and he wouldn't let Harry see it til it was done, said it was a secret.

Louis gives him a small smile and nods, then parks and turns off the car.

“I need your help to do it, though,” he says quietly.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, hopping out of the vehicle.

“I'll let Niall explain,” Louis tells him, entwining their fingers. Harry nods and they walk toward the parlor. Niall is one of their friends, he and Harry met in uni and were pretty good friends then, but once uni was over they went their separate ways. Then Harry moved into the area and went to get a new tattoo and found Niall to be one of the main artists, along with his boyfriend Zayn, which was a plot twist he never saw coming. Even funnier is the fact that Niall is probably the only tattoo artist in the world without a single tattoo.

The bell jingles when they walk in the door and Zayn looks up from where he's doodling at his desk.

“Ni! Lou and Haz are here!” He calls out and Niall comes bumbling out of the back room.

“Tommo! This is the day then, eh?” Niall brings Louis in for a hug.

“Well this is when we made the appointment for,” Louis informs Niall, the words pressed into his shoulder. Zayn snorts in the background. Louis detaches from Niall and Niall leads them over to a station. Louis sits down in the chair.

“Mate, you're going to have to take off your shirt,” Niall tells him, pulling on gloves. Harry's absolutely lost.

“He hasn't seen it yet, I don't want him to see it til it's done, and remember he's gonna do it today? Could we like cover it with something til he's done?”

“What? What am I doing?” Harry asks, sitting down in a chair next to Louis.

“You're gonna finish my tattoo, if you wanna, like, I mean you don't have to-”

“Lou,” Niall says, pointedly, “You know.”

“Yeah, I do, I know,” Louis nods, takes a deep breath. Harry is so lost. Niall directs him to turn around, then, and when he's told he can look, Louis has removed his (Harry's) sweater and has opaque tape covering a curved line, following the line of one side of the bottom of his rib cage. It seems to start in the center of his torso, just below his breastbone and it curves up with the bone of his rib and then dips back down, leaving a little space at the end. Harry flicks through all the things it could be in his mind, and comes up blank.

“So I'm tattooing you?” Harry asks then. Louis nods.

Niall jumps in then and explains how to do it and all the procedures, even though he knows Harry's done this before. But that was Ed, it wasn't Louis. Once they've gone through all the protocol and all that, Harry turns to Louis.

“So what am I, like, doing?”

“I, um, I need you to write, like right where the tape ends 'cause it's a phrase, uh, just the word 'love,'” Louis says it quietly, stuttering. Harry's heart immediately starts pounding in his chest, like a wild animal trying to pound out of it's cage. They've been together for a year and a month, and never once have they said that to each other. Harry doesn't know exactly what it's going to say, but the fact that he's going to tattoo the word 'love' on his boy is fucking monumental.

“Oh, yeah. Okay,” Harry breathes, amazed that the needle isn't trembling in his grip. Louis nods and relaxes into the position Niall told him to get in and Harry leans forward. It's just four little letters, but the ribs are one of the most painful places to get tattoos, so Louis grips on to the chair tightly. Harry lowers the needle down, and as he starts making his “l” Louis hisses. He moves on to the “o”, proud of his handwriting for not wobbling. He blots away the bit of blood that comes up and moves on to the “v”, which kind of connects with the “o”, but that's okay because the point is that it's in his handwriting. He finishes up the “e” and he's actually like sweating.

“No punctuation,” Louis tells him, craning his neck to get a look. Niall takes care of the last bit, and then tells Harry to turn around again. When he does, he hears Niall pulling off the tape and Louis swearing under his breath at him.

“Okay,” Louis says, and Harry turns around. He has to get closer to read it, and as he does he finally starts to shake.

There, in script and then ending with Harry's slightly lopsided “love”, is the line, “I don't care, I'm not scared of love”. It's from a song Louis had written and given to Zayn to record on his EP. Harry listens to Louis' demo sometimes when he's not around and imagines he's singing to-- for-- him. Maybe he always was.

“I thought, like, maybe if I tattooed it in my skin maybe it would be true. Because I do. Love you, that is,” he takes a shaky breath, like that took all the strength in the world to say. And maybe it did. Maybe after his biological father leaving him and his mum at the ripe old age of ten days old, to his mum and the man he considered his father's divorce, to the hate he's seen and experienced, it really did take all the strength in the world. Maybe Louis is Atlas, holding the world on his shoulders, and maybe he's just shrugged and let it roll.

Harry certainly feels like the world is rolling, like everything has just been turned upside down. But in the strangest way, upside down feels a lot like right side up.

And now that he's presented with the opportunity, now that the words he's only dreamed of for so long have hit his ear drums, Harry is speechless.

“Hazza?” Louis' voice shakes.

Harry unlocks his jaw, and it's nearly like vomit with how fast it comes up, and before he knows what he's doing he's crying and kissing Louis so deep, so hard they may actually be one person in that instant.

“Yeah?” Louis gasps, in a moment when Harry pulls back just the slightest.

“Yeah, so much, so fucking much,” Harry breathes, before bringing their mouths back together. After a minute of snogging Louis silly like Harry'd promised, they remember they're in the middle of a tattoo parlor with two of their best mates probably trying to stop them from fucking right there. No, _making love_ , because that's something they can do now.

“I'm going to need you to speed on the way home, and then I'm going to need you to make love to me,” Harry says against Louis' slick lips. Louis nods, and this time, they do run the red light.

 

~*~

 

They're drunk as fuck, is the thing. They'd gone out clubbing with Niall and Zayn and Liam and have finally just made their way home. They're fucking hammered, actually, and Harry knows he's going to regret that fourth drink in the morning when he's looking at it in the toilet and swear off alcohol for good (good being about a week.) But Harry's heard that being drunk actually just removes or lessens people's inhibitions, so when Louis starts tells Harry his whole childhood and everything that fucked him up/over, from start to finish and they both end up crying, it's expected. What Harry didn't expect, even from the most inebriated Louis, is a promise, because Louis doesn't believe in things like permanence and solidity, and most definitely not promises. His “sperm-donor” promised, he'd say, his dad promised, he'd say. They both broke that promise.

But he says it anyway, “I've just told you my whole past and I swear to god, Harry, I promise you're going to be my whole future.”

 

~*~

 

Nights like these are so good, Saturday nights when Harry stays over and his stuff over flows into a second drawer and they've got no plans but excessive sex and 3 am cookies from scratch. Louis' playing the Top 40 on Pandora and they're singing along probably too loudly for the time of night while Louis stirs the cookie dough.

“My arm hasn't hurt like this since I was twelve and discovered wanking,” Louis huffs, making Harry laugh probably harder than necessary.

“You were twelve? Damn I was an early bloomer then.”

“Yes, well, Harold you're insatiable and I imagine you always have been,” quips Louis.

“While the cookies are baking want me to suck you off?”

Louis puts down the mixing bowl and looks at him incredulously, “H, I've just come twice in the span of an hour and a half and you three times, how the fuck do you still want to go?”

“You make it sound like it's a bad thing,” Harry grins cheekily.

“It's not, I just think you've got a weird super power,” Louis mutters. Harry just smiles wider then walks over to the fridge to get them both glasses of milk to wash down some raw cookie dough. As he's pouring from the gallon of 1%, the song changes and the familiar guitar starts. Harry nearly jumps four feet in the air as Zayn starts with, “My hands, your hands, tied up like two ships...”

“Turn it up!” He shouts, bouncing around. Louis laughs giddily and turns up the volume to the max. They start dancing around wildly. It's happened nearly dozens of times now, that they've been listening to the radio and Strong will come on, Zayn's voice crooning through the car's speakers, but it still hasn't lost it's novelty.

Harry holds back on singing til the line hits, even though every line makes him want to shout the song from the hills. Louis' whipping his hair around and laughing, and then they both sing at the same time, “I'm sorry if I say I need ya, but I don't care I'm not scared of looooooOOOoOOOove!” From there they belt out every single lyric, harmonizing with Zayn perfectly. Zayn actually said he wants them to sing with him on a track on his next EP/album. _Album_ , Harry can't believe it. The tattoo shop is really taking off, like Liam Payne, international pop star _Liam god damn Payne_ , is apparently becoming a regular in the parlor (and also Niall and Zayn's bed. Harry decided not to question that.) And then Zayn is becoming a star himself, which is then bringing in Louis song writing credit for Strong and Right Now. He actually got an email from Liam Payne's management or something asking if he'd like to write for him and they've got a date set to meet. Louis' been so excited he's already been jotting down ideas, something to do with sex addiction (inspired by Harry, apparently) and lyrics entirely composed of song titles. Harry's EP set to come out in about a month as well, that Zayn's been doing a bit of promo for. Louis tells him it has 'an endearingly large amount of banjo' in it as well as 'an endearingly large amount of me.' And he's not wrong there, like more than half the songs are about Louis, but a lot of them were written during the Bad Times. Songs like Something Great (which Louis actually features in) and another called Don't Let Me Go, they were all written after fights like the one at Louis' mum's house, nearly a year ago now. Sometimes it's still too much for Louis, when Harry loves him a little too much for him to believe. But it's nearly always good. So good. Nights like these have been frequent and everything is going so well and Harry loves this boy so, so indescribably much.

 

~*~

 

Louis called Harry and told him that they needed to talk. He sounded nervous, which twists Harry's stomach uncomfortably, but he's also excited because he's been dropping hints about wanting to officially move in for _weeks_ now, and maybe Louis' finally gotten it. Or, maybe Niall had to spell it out for him, as it usually goes. Whatever it is, it has Harry feeling some kind of jittery and he can't stop jiggling his leg on the drive home from the studio.

He hangs his keys on Louis' key hook, which Louis doesn't actually use, when he steps in the door and wipes his shoes. Walking through the house, he finds a paper trail. A writing day, then. It seems to start in the kitchen, because there's some scribbles on the grocery list hung on the fridge. Then there's some more of Louis' familiar chicken scratch actually in pencil on the counter, an abandoned bowl of what looks like it was once cereal, and then there's balled up papers strewn about the kitchen, leading in to the living room.

“Lou?” Harry calls, until he hears a noise and notices the Louis-sized bulge under a blanket on the couch. He walks over and lifts up the corner until he can see Louis, and when he does the wind is knocked out of him. Louis is a mess, knees tucked under his chin, arms wrapped around both his legs and a notebook, the pages Harry can see are absolutely filled with words, in all the margins, with arrows and music notes and some are smudged, but then there's Louis himself. His eyes are red and puffy, nose pink in the same way. His eyelashes are clumped together with water and there's definitive streaks through his cheeks. He looks up at Harry then through bleary, glassy eyes and says thickly, “I'm breaking up with you.”

Harry remembers Louis' promise. Remembers that day and how Louis had spilled his whole past to the boy he thought was his whole future, and the promise he made and the tattoo on his ribcage and all the painful, slow, _relieving_ 'I love you's.

He sits down on the coffee table and paper crunches under him. He pulls it out, smooths it over, and when he does the words finally register.

It's not a song, they're not lyrics, they're a speech. Louis practiced how he was going to do this, and that's all Harry gets?

“That's all I get? 'I'm breaking up with you'?” Harry asks, voice bleak. He doesn't know what emotion he's feeling, if he's feeling one at all. Confusion passes over Louis' features and his eyebrows pull together. God damnit. Harry's never, like, never loved someone who broke up with him. He didn't realize that the love didn't just shut off, didn't realize that even while Louis is smashing Harry's heart to smithereens, Harry can still think he looks adorable, can still want to kiss him silly.

“I give you two years and you give me 'I'm breaking up with you'?” Harry asks, voice a little louder now. His first reaction seems to be anger. He can feel it swelling in his marrow, in his blood. It's so hard to discern which way is up and which way is down and which feeling is love and which feeling is hate.

But he doesn't hate Louis, he never could.

Harry hates that he once thought love was beautiful. He hates that he once thought Louis was beautiful. He hates that he used to be confused about the phrase 'falling in love', because to him it felt more like flying.

He hates that now he still thinks that love is beautiful. But in the way that a cobra looks at you just before striking, in the way sharks swim around photographers in tanks, in the way microscopic particles have the power to kill you if you only let them in.

He hates that now he still thinks that Louis is beautiful. But in the way your life flashes before your eyes when the cobra's teeth sink under your flesh, in your veins, in the way the sharks still have flesh trailing from their teeth, in the way it feels to get a vaccination and knowing you've let the killing thing in but stripped it of it's power to kill- but it's inside of you and it's a part of you and it's deadly and you can feel it trickling into you and mixing with your blood, cold. These killing things have parts of you and you have parts of them and Louis is no different than any other killing thing.

He hates that now he understands the phrase 'falling in love' because to Harry, it feels like he's just hit the bottom and his bones have shattered and blood is pouring from where he's been ripped open and his heart is breaking.

But he doesn't, can't, hate Louis.

“I love you, you know,” Louis says. The contradiction of this and Harry's thoughts makes his head spin.

Louis is a cobra, a shark, a killing thing.

Louis loves him.

How can those two things go together?

“Then why are you breaking up with me?” Harry asks, eyes suddenly feeling hot, because he's said it out loud and that makes it so _real_.

“Because I'm not good for you and love isn't good for me,” Louis says. Harry has never heard his voice this small.

“Bullshit,” Harry whispers, mostly because if he were to use his voice it'd crack. They both sit there for a moment, Louis curled up under his blanket on the couch and Harry with his head in his hands, sat on the coffee table. He tries to breathe and he knows he's inhaling and he knows he's exhaling but it doesn't bring any relief to the burning he feels in his chest.

“I'm sorry,” Louis says.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, “me too.”

“We can still be-”

“No, we really can't.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“How long?” Harry asks, looking up then.

“How long what?”

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

“A few weeks.” Louis answers. Harry thinks back to just yesterday, how he'd been delighted because Louis hadn't told him that he loved Harry that many times in 24 hours in _months_. He'd fucked Harry slow and soft and wonderful and looking into his eyes or kissing him the whole damn time. Took his time, like he was savoring it, found Harry's sweet spot with every thrust to make it good for him. Said 'I love you' when he came.

“You made love to me yesterday,” Harry says, blankly. He wonders when he'll cry. The corners of Louis' mouth twitch up, like it's a fond memory from years ago, not last night. Funny how so much can change in an instant, that a matter of hours can feel like lifetimes. Was there a time that Harry didn't hurt like this? That it didn't feel like his ribs poke into his lungs with every breath? Did he exist without this sadness?

“Yeah, I did,” Louis says, and it would sound almost fond if he wasn't still lightly crying.

“Is that it then? You're breaking up with me when I'm still sore from the last time you fucked me? When I can still _feel_ you?” Harry asks. Louis nods, seemingly out of things to say.

“So that's what you're leaving me with? A sore arse and some broken promises?” Louis flinches, squeezes his eyes shut, but he nods. On his way out the door, Harry sees Louis had written it into the cutting board so many times it was carved there, a deep groove in the wood. _I have to let you go even if I don't want to._

~*~

 

So at some point it got to be too much for Louis. Harry doesn't know when, what made him snap, but it happened and it's over and he has to deal with it now.

Maybe it was too many “I love you”s, because Louis had stopped returning them and Harry just bombarded him, trying to get a response.

Maybe it was too much talk of moving in together, Harry's things overflowing into a third drawer.

Maybe it was because Harry looked a little too wistful when that couple got engaged when they were out to dinner.

Whatever it was, it pushed Louis over the edge. Harry needs to stop dwelling on it. It's been a month.

A month since the love of his life broke up with him. A month since it became clear that Louis had a lie marked into his ribcage. A month since the thorns of the roses really did shred Harry to pieces. A month since Harry started punching the radio when Strong played.

 

~*~

 

“It doesn't smell like you anymore.” Louis' voice cracks, breaks, shatters.

Harry doesn't say anything.

“I can hear you breathing. I know it like my favorite song. Sometimes, when you'd sleep, I'd tell you. I'd tell you how much I loved you. I'd tell it to your eyelids and I'd watch them flutter. You frowned in your sleep, when I did that, you know.”

“Why didn't you ever tell me when I was awake, then?” Harry asks, voice wobbling.

“I tried, I swear to god I tried.”

“Why are you telling me this now, Louis? It's been four months.” Harry is tired. So tired. He's tired of being sad and he's tired of remembering and he's tired of these damn calls.

“Because your scarf stopped smelling like you, and I've got nothing of you left.” Louis' voice sounds small. Harry sighs, pauses, feels the familiar lump form in his throat.

“That's a lie, Louis. You lie about a lot of things.”

There's no response from Louis, and through the growing tightness in his chest Harry continues, “You've got all of me. You took me and you made me your own and then you ran and now I've got none of myself left.” The tears start to well up now, Harry wishes he knew how to stop them.

“I-” It's that attempt at what was going to be some excuse, or apology, or declaration that tips Harry over, angry tears spilling over.

“No. No _fuck you_ , Louis, fuck you. You can't just fucking call me at four in the morning because you _miss_ me. _You_ left _me_. You don't have a right to miss me- to just fucking call me up and break me like that _god damned_ promise.” Harry's yelling now, but that doesn't stop him from crying.

He hears Louis take a shuddering breath. “I just wanted to tell you.”

“Is that what this is then? Is this your fucking honesty? Too little too late, Louis. You know when you could have told me how much you loved me? That night at your moms house. All those times you fucked me. You know the first time you told me you loved me you didn't even say it? God you even _told_ me it was a lie. 'Maybe if I tattoo it into my skin it'll be true' you said. You could have told me that night when we made cookies at 3 AM, you could have told me when I told you. But you know what you did? You ran, you fucking ran away from me and you may think that you pushed me but I am in the same place I was and you're so damn far away.” Harry's voice breaks on the last word, his sadness overcoming his anger. He feels like a seesaw, and with every minute his sadness goes up and anger decreases, then his anger swells and over comes the sadness. There's thirty seconds of silence. Time goes by so bloody slow.

Finally, there's Louis' voice. Meek, quiet, soft.

“Do you still?”

Harry does collapse, implode, crumple then. He melts down the wall and curls in on himself on the floor. And he remembers, he remembers all the kisses and the good times and how god damn much he loved Louis. How god damn much he _loves_ Louis.

“Fuck you,” He spits, hot tears dripping off his chin. “Fuck you, of course I do.”

The line goes dead.

Harry listens to the silence, punctuated with his own sounds of sadness, and he can't keep the images, feelings, memories at bay any more.

He doesn't know how long he lies there, all he knows is the tiniest movement hurts, like all his bones have been removed and he is everything that is soft and fragile.

 

~*~

 

The scarf comes in the mail two weeks after the call. Harry wasn't expecting it, never thought he'd see it again really, and when he wraps it around his neck it smells distinctly of Louis. Of his cologne and his smoke and his house and cinnamon.

After keeping it with him in some way for three days straight, Niall tells him, “That's fucking unhealthy, mate, throw it out.” But it's not any worse for him than nightmares every night, nightmares that were reality, nightmares of a broken, “I'm breaking up with you.” It's not any worse than forgetting Louis just enough to forget why he was supposed to. It's not any worse than answering every call on the first ring, praying to god that he'll get to hear his voice in something other than a memory.

So he keeps the scarf.

Until it stops smelling like Louis, until he sprays it with his cologne and sends it in the mail.

“That's fucking unhealthy, mate,” Zayn tells him.

“Yeah,” Harry says, but it's Louis' problem now.

**Author's Note:**

> UM OK  
> so if u dont want to rip my guts out, or maybe if you do, i'm on tumblr at [ welllngton ](http://welllngton.tumblr.com)  
> im on twitter @sophiekink_  
> if u wanna talk to me about this or anything really at all message me on tumblr!!! i'd love to talk to u and if u want to yell at me i will not object i want to yell at myself  
> there's gonna be a prequel and two sequels (all three will be co-written with josy ao3 user lovesofoolishly) so hold out for those!!! they're also going to be based off various t swift songs  
> please comment if u have something to say!! and kudoses take .2 seconds but mean like 2 whole worlds so if u liked this plz kudos!! thank u all for reading ily!!!


End file.
